Thinking of you.

I work with words all the time.  Words are my chosen medium.  My words are more than my voice, they're my music, my oils, my marble and alabaster. Through my words, I can become other people, I can create entire new worlds out of nothing by the mote in my eye.  They're the only form of mastery I can even begin to believe I've attained in all my years. 

And yet, there are times when my words are woefully inadequate to the task set before me.

I have funny stories I can share with you, to commiserate, to comfort, to distract.  (Remind me to tell you about the time we took my grandmother's ashes out for prime rib and a beer before we made the epic drive from Nebraska to Texas to take her home.) But there's nothing I can do to ease what's coming, or what may have already come to pass.  There is no way out but through, and all I can do is be here on the other side. 

I don't feel like I know you well enough to say these things, but here I am.  If you were closer, I would be bringing by a casserole, or stealing you away for hot soup and fresh bread. For what it's worth, you're in my thoughts and in my heart, and I hope that's some small comfort.

lessthanthree.